


Some Assembly Required

by violetbond



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 01:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12288234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetbond/pseuds/violetbond





	1. Ain't That a Kick in the Head

**War. War never changes. When atomic fire consumed the Earth, those who survived did so in great underground vaults. When they opened, their inhabitants set out across the ruins of the old world to build new societies, establishing villages, and forming tribes. As decades passed, what had been the American southwest united beneath the flag of the New California Republic, dedicated to hold world values of democracy and the rule of law.**

**As the Republic grew, so did its needs. Scouts spread east, seeking territory and wealth in the dry and merciless expanse of the Mojave Desert. They returned with tales of a city untouched by the warheads that had scorched the rest of the world, and a great wall spanning the Colorado River. The NCR mobilized its army, and sent it east to occupy Hoover Dam and restore it to working condition.**

**But across the Colorado, another tribal society had risen under a different flag. A vast army of slaves forged from the conquest of 86 tribes, Caesar's Legion. Four years have passed since the Republic held the Dam just barely against the Legion's onslaught. The Legion did not retreat. Across the river it gathers strength, campfires burn, training drums beat. Through it all, The New Vegas Strip has stayed open for business under the control of its mysterious overseer, Mr. House, and his army of rehabilitated tribals and police robots.**

**You are a Courier, hired by the Mojave Express to deliver a package to the New Vegas Stip. What seemed like a simple delivery job has taken a turn... for the worst.**

**_ OUTSIDE THE CITY OF GOODSPRINGS _ **

The Courier groggily opened her eyes, squinting in confusion as she heard voices coming from a few feet ahead of her.

"You got what you were after, so pay up," one of them demanded.

"You're crying in the rain, pally," replied a different voice, an irritated ring in his tone. She blinked a few times, trying to move her hands, only to find them bound tightly by thick ropes. Just as she was about to test how tight they really were, a different voice made her jump in surprise.

"Look who's wakin' up over here!" said the man, making her look up to face her captors. Five of them wore the uniforms of the Great Khans, an infamous band of cutthroats known for their merciless ways of dealing with prisoners. The man in the middle of all of them wore a checkered suit, his hair slicked back. He must be from the Strip, by the looks of how well kept he was.

"Time to cash out," he said as he turned to face her, crushing his half smoked cigarette under his foot. The Courier stared up at him, sadness etched into her face as their eyes met. She must've looked so sad by the way his eyes softened and his jaw drew tighter.

"Will you get on with it?" Asked one of the Great Khans impatiently and obnoxiously. The man in the checkered suit held up a single finger, silencing them all.

"Khans might kill people without lookin' 'em in the face, but I ain't a fink, dig?" He stared the man down before looking at the Courier once more. He reached inside of his suit jacket, pulling out the Platinum Chip with a smirk. "You've made your last delivery, kid," he said with a sigh, putting the chip back into his suit pocket. When his hand withdrew, he held a shining gold and silver 9mm in his hand.

"From where you're kneeling, this must look like an 18-Carat round of bad luck," he said as The Courier glanced nervously between his face and the gun held tightly in his hand.

"Truth is..." he stopped, pointing his gun towards the Courier, causing her eyes to widen in shock, "the game was rigged from the start." Her vision flashed white as the sound of the gunshot rang in her ears...

** _A FEW DAYS LATER_ **

The Courier slowly blinked, moaning in pain as the light of the Mojave sun burned in through an open window beside her bed.

"You're awake! How 'bout that?" said a soft voice beside her. Her vision blurred, causing her to sit up quickly as a wave of nausea hit her like... well, like a bullet had been planted in her brain not too long ago. "Careful there. You've been out for a couple a days now," he leaned forward, holding a hand out to stop her. As her vision cleared a bit more, she finally got a good look at him. He was an older man, worn from the harsh Wasteland that was now the United States of America. "Why don't you relax a second? Get your bearings. Let's see what the damage is." She gave him a confused look, holding her head with a groan of pain. "What about your name? Can you tell me your name?" he asked slowly, his voice soft as to not worsen her headache.

_'My name...?'_  She thought for a moment or two, causing her eyebrows to furrow together in deep concentration. _'Name, name, what is a name? What is my name?'_  A name settled itself before her that she was absolutely sure was her own. "Andy," she said softly, not really trusting her dry throat. It came out more like a croak, but thank God the doctor could understand her.

"Andy, huh? Not the name I would've chose for ya, but if that's your name, that's your name. I'm Doc Mitchell, welcome to Goodsprings. Now, I had to go rootin' around in your head there to get all the bits of lead out. I take pride in my needle work, but you better look to see if I messed up at all," as he said this, he hand her an oddly shaped mirror. She grasped the sides, holding it up to her face. Same blue eyes, same cinammon brown hair, same rosy cheeks... The only thing that was off about her appearance was the large scar running along her hairline. Thank God they made a hair growth serum back in 2089, she would look really odd if she had a big bald spot on the top of her head from the gunshot. The gunshot... She would hunt that man down if it was the last thing she did.

"I look great, Doc," she cracked a small smile. Doc nodded and smiled back.

"Well, I got most of it right. Stuff that matters. There's no use keeping you in bed all day. Come on, let's walk around," he stood and took her hands, helping her stand. She instantly stumbled, her vision blurring once more with the sudden movement. His hands still held hers as her vision cleared once more. "Okay, now I want you to walk over to that old Vit-O-Matic machine. Go slow now, it ain't a race," he turned and walked over to the machine, allowing her to follow behind him. After a few mental tests to make sure that she was still completely there, Doc and Jessie made their way to the door of his home.

"Here, you can wear this. It used to be my wife's, but she won't be using it anymore. Also, here is your stuff. I had to get it off your clothes, since they were covered in blood and other stuff," Doc said as he handed her the Vault 21 suit that was previously his wife. Jessie quickly slipped it on without a hitch, hugging Doc afterwards.

"Thanks for patching me up, Doc," she said with a smile before turning towards the door.

"Make sure you talk to Sunny up at the bar. She'll help you out before you head outta town," he called to her as she waved, slipping out of his home. The sun was so bright, almost like the light she saw the night of the shooting...

~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, in the Tops, the man in the checkered suit sat at the bar with his good friend, Swank. It was obvious that Swank was drunk off his ass, but the man didn't seem to notice at all. He was too fixated on the shot of whiskey in his hand to notice.

"Damn, Benny," he slurred, slugging the man, Benny, in the shoulder with a drunken laugh, "I never knew you had it in ya to steal from a broad, let alone kill her in cold blood!" Benny simple chuckled at his friend's idiocy as he continued to stare down at his whiskey. The cinnamon color of the hard liquor had the leader of the Chairmen in a trance, another person coming to mind at Swank's comment.

_Her wild, cinnamon hair was blowing in the hot summer wind, a grin on her face, blue eyes sparkling as she walked along the cracked tar heading out of Primm. The Courier drab she had on wasn't as flattering as it could've been, but she somehow made it look like an outfit fit for a civilian goddess. Benny had watched her through his cheap binoculars as he scouted along the ridge outside of Goodsprings. A few of the Great Khans that he had hired stood around him, watching him with interest._ _Why does it have to end this way?' He had thought to himself as he watched her draw her black 9mm from its holster, firing at one of the Golden Geckos that roamed the areas around toxic waste spills. It dropped to the ground at her feet, blood oozing from the gunshot wounds. The way she shot with such accuracy and grace was stunning and sexy, and it made her seem strong._

Sudden shouting in his ear brought Benny out of his daydream.

"Benny! Seriously, pay attention!" Swank yelled, smacking the back of Benny's head. Benny painfully rubbed his goose egg, glaring over at his old friend.

"What?" Benny spit, watching the bartender refill his glass of whiskey with a lusty gaze. Even though Benny was as straight as the lines on his suit, the baby faced man was practically edible.

"You have a thing for that broad ya shot out in Goodsprings, don't chya?" Swank whispered to Benny. The man in question whipped his head to look Swank in the eyes, the tension on his face sharp enough to cut glass. Benny didn't want to admit it, but the woman... he couldn't get her out of his head; out of guilt or longing, he couldn't decide.

"Screw off, Swank," he growled, pushing away from the bar. Benny stalked away, leaving his friend confused and helplessly drunk It wasn't long before Benny was in his private sweet in the Tops, a largish room with its own bathrooms, two bedrooms, an expansive living room, and a bar for when he entertained the woman of the Strip He was absolutely livid. How could Swank have asked him that?! He couldn't be in love with a dead woman! For God's sake, he shot her point blank! But even so... He couldn't help but wonder how her skin would feel under his fingers, what her hair would smell as as they lay together on a dark summer's night, her eyes twinkling brighter than the stars above them.

Maybe he was in love... But it was too late now to regret what he did. She was an innocent courier who was just doing her job, making her contribution to the slowly rebuilding society... And he shot her to get that damn chip. What a damn fool...


	2. I've Got You Under My Skin

The desert was just the way Andy had remembered it: dry, hot, and full of things that wanted to kill her for fun. As she had left Doc's home, she had run into Victor, the Securitron robot who dug her out of the grave at the top of the hill outside the small settlement of Goodsprings. Honestly, he was one of the most annoying things she'd ever met, fully equipped with a Western twang and an illustration of a stereotypical cowboy projected onto his screen. "I'm just glad to help!" he drawled out to her before rolling away, his tire crunching again the dust and rocks.The Prospector Saloon was her next stop, a shabby bar on the main street of town. It was like any other bar she had been to in the Mojave, door creaking precariously on rusted hinges as she pushed inside. The air was thick with dust and heat, the heat sucking the air from her lungs.

The bar and lounge area were separated by a thin wall, booths lining either sides of the outer walls. The booth seats were covered with thick suede, the cushions cracked and sagging. Patrons sat at the stools along the counter, sipping on various liquors and alcohols to numb the daily hardships of living in a nuclear wasteland. The bartender was tending to a sputtering, broken radio, cursing as she hit the thing in an attempt to get it to work for once.

The sound of a dog growling had brought her from her thoughts, followed by a voice from across the room.

"Cheyenne, stay! Don't worry, she won't bite unless I tell her to." Andy glanced in the direction of the voice to find a short woman standing next to the Husky growling at her from the floor. The woman, no older than 25, had sun-kissed blonde hair tied back into a mechanist's bun. An easy smile sat on her face, which was weathered and tanned to a permanent amber. "The name's Sunny. You're that lady Doc was patching up, huh?"

"Yes, my name is Andy," said woman replied, smiling at her. She liked Sunny already, the southern drawl and worn leather armor made her all the more likable.

"Well then, I'm guessing you need something if ya came all the way here to find me," Sunny replied with a blatant tone, patting Cheyenne on the muzzle.

"Yeah, well, I don't have any guns beside my 9mm, and they don't work too well against those damn Geckos..." Andy said with a roll of her eyes, an exasperated sigh leaving her chapped lips. She should've known that her rusty peashooter was no match for the fuckers running around the Wastes. Hell, she really only had the thing to scare people that got in her way. She was a talker, not a shooter. Sunny let out a chuckle, pushing herself off of the worn pool table sitting in the middle of the lounge.

"Meet me out back. I'll teach you how to really shoot a gun," and with that, Sunny was out the back door with Cheyenne at her heels. Andy stared after her, a snide remark caught on her tongue. She knew how to shoot a damn gun! Andy stormed after Sunny and Cheyenne, only to have a man in an NCR Correctional Facility armor suit and the bartender stop her in her tracks. They seemed to be confronting each other, the bartender standing with her arms crossed as the ruffian got up and in her face.

"I'm done playing nice. If you don't hand Ringo over soon, I'm going to get my friends and we're burning this town to the ground, got it?" He growled at her, his fists balled. The woman snorted, letting her arms hang at her sides.

"We'll keep that in mind. Now, if you're not going to buy something, get out," she drawled at him, turning on her heel and walking back behind the battered bar. The man turned and quickly stalked away from her, ramming into Andy in the process.

"Watch where you're going, bitch!" He growled before continuing out the door of the saloon. Andy stared after him in surprise, simply shaking it off and chalking it up to the guy just being a prick. She turned back to the bar, and was greeted by a smiling face.

"Well, you've been causing quite a stir. Glad I finally got to meet you. Welcome to the Prospector Saloon," her eyes were gentle, and Andy immediately felt more relaxed. Although her memory was terrible, she vaguely remembers Doc Mitchell mentioning that she should talk to the owner of the saloon, Trudy.

"I overhead your argument. What was that all about?"

Trudy shook her head with a sigh, "It looks like our little town got itself dragged into the middle something we don't want anything to do with," she gestured for Andy to sit down, pouring her a whiskey on the rocks to sip on while she continued her story, "about a week ago, this trader, Ringo, comes into town. Survivor of an attack, he days. Bad men after him, needs a place to hide. We figured the poor bastard was just in shook, so we gave him a place to lie low. We didn't actually expect anyone to come after him...." Sunny then peaked in through back door, calling to Andy to come and shoot with her.

"Looks like my time with you is up. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me," Trudy gave her a smile before turning to the other patrons. Andy took a deep breath, downing her drink and swinging off the bar stool to follow Sunny out the door. This way going to be... interesting.

**SOME TIME LATER**

"Well, I guess you did alright?" Sunny scratched the back of her head with an awkward smile on her face, the defeated Courier throwing the Varmin Rifle Sunny had given her on the ground. About a yard or two away from them, six Sunset Sarsaparilla bottles stood surrounding by at least 100 bullet holes. "Not everyone is a fighter, don't feel so down on yourself. You're still recovering, it'll come back to you at some point."

Andy shook her head, holstering the rifle, "all I need is enough know-how to find that bastard that shot me."

Sunny let out a soft whistle, gaining the attention of Cheyenne, who sat a few feet away, greying muzzle rested upon her paws. "Tell you what. I gotta go chase geckos away from our water supply anyway. Darn critters are attracted to it. Why don't you come along?" Hunting geckos? That honestly sounded like the last thing that Andy wanted to do. She had dealt with enough of those bastards trying to get to the Strip, and she wasn't about to put herself in harms way again just to learn to shoot again.

"Thanks, but I think I've learned enough to get me by."

"Suit yourself. If you ever need me for something, just go ahead and ask," Sunny gave the Courier a brief smile before whipping out her rifle, setting out to kill some geckos. Now that she finally had some time to explore and wander a bit, Andy set out to check out what exactly this little shanty town had to offer.

By sun down, Andy had thoroughly investigated the town. It was pretty much vacant besides the few ranchers that hadn't scrounged up enough caps to get the hell of this place. The people were nice enough, though, each one greeting Andy with a smile. The sky was painted a light lilac, a few wispy clouds dancing across the sky as the Courier made her way up the hill to the Goodsprings Cemetary. The view was wonderful, and she vaguely remembered seeing the Strip glowing in the distance the night that she almost met her untimely end. Picking up one of the many discarded cigarette butts, she squinted into the distance at the glittering jewel of the Mojave. She would hunt that checkered bastard to the ends of the Earth, even if it meant that she would lose herself along the way.

Andy sat down in the dirt with a huff, pulling out her Pipboy and flicking it to the radio. As she tuned in to the only radio station that ever worked out here, the gentle lulls of Johnny Guitar hummed from the tiny speaker. It would've been perfect, the sunset, the song's melody drifting into the wind about her. But Andy had a goal in her mind, a fire blossoming from the pit of her soul that she couldn't extinguish until she had the Platinum Chip and her assailant was dead by her hand. She pulled up the map, marking the location that Trudy had jotted down on a napkin before she had left the Prospector Saloon.

Her next destination: Primm.


	3. Chapter 3

This is probably going to be hella shitty, but enjoy my attempt at F:NV fanfiction!


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